


The Recruiter

by brightephemera



Series: No Identification Provided [4]
Category: Planescape: Torment
Genre: Angst, Blood, Murder, practical incarnation, this is turning into one of those plans where we kill everyone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-18
Updated: 2019-05-18
Packaged: 2020-03-07 08:09:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18869206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brightephemera/pseuds/brightephemera
Summary: Nameless is facing more and more brushes with people who knew him. Something's got to give.





	The Recruiter

**Author's Note:**

> I fear these aren’t all in chronological order. This story occurs after The Player’s Maze. Nameless isn’t having a great week.

Nameless had the son of the mason who had built _him_ his grand, terrible tomb. The man had engraved the words at _his_ bidding, and then died in the darkness to keep his secret. Because Nameless’s old incarnation was a thorough man.

The son might suspect something after the questions Nameless had asked. The son might have gotten descriptions of his father’s last client, or at least the grand final project, the palace of the catacombs, _his_ monument to his own mystery. The trail ran straight through that mason. The son was polite. He was helpful.

He was about to die from a dagger through the neck.

Nameless’s action was jerky, inexpert. Maybe _he_ had been a scrapper but he had not passed this specific knowledge on. Still, Nameless closed, and stabbed, and staggered away.

The man pressed a hand to his own neck and tried to speak. He could only gurgle. “I’m sorry,” said Nameless, watching the blood spray between the man’s desperate fingers. “If there were any other way…but there isn’t.”

His followers were ranged in a half circle, staring at him. The mason fell.

“What, did he drop one of his tombstones on yer mother?” said Annah.

“He could have figured it out,” said Nameless, and cleared his throat. “He’d have the Harmonium on me in minutes. I can’t afford that.”

Fall-from-Grace looked…interested. “What would your curse do if you were indefinitely imprisoned?” she said.

“Persist,” said Dak’kon. He looked tired. “We should leave this place.”

“What was he on about the catacombs?” said Annah. “I know ‘em inwards and out. There’s nothing like his fancy work there.”

Because it had been locked behind a gate of death. The thought of her creeping around underground locating the blood-sealed secrets…he couldn’t control it. Anyone might find out. “Have you seen all the traps?” Nameless said, his throat tight. Did she see the gate?

Annah gave a pointed grin. “Nae one that touched me.”

“This is the company I left Lothar’s skull collection for,” said Morte. “They’re not nearly as exciting. Also slightly less homicidal, but who’s counting?”

“We should go,” said Nameless. The trail. The trail was spattered on the floor. If he was found like this, they could follow the trail back, figure out what he was, what he had done…mere imprisonment, hell though it would be, might be called too good for him.

He shook himself and walked. Fall-from-Grace hurried ahead to get the door. She looked at him, because she knew. Because she knew. Too many people knew.

In the street he whispered a cantrip to summon a foul-smelling cloud from a point in the road some yards away. The crowd’s attention split between those investigating and those avoiding the circle of effect. Nameless slipped into the newly churning press, and let his followers come as they may.

The discoveries of the last three days…the last three weeks…his entire lifetime…weighed heavily on him. Kindness was no longer enough. _He_ had touched too many lives, and even he had missed ending some of them. There were still clues for someone to find. There was so much that still needed scouring.

Nameless needed allies to get through this, allies who wouldn’t ask too many questions. He needed people with debts, with addictions, with _something_ to grasp. He needed people who were so terrible that even the Harmonium would hesitate to interfere with him. He needed someone who could scorch his path clean.

“We’re going back to the Festhall to pick something up,” he said over the noise of the street. “And then the Smoldering Corpse.”

Because only a crazy man would want to converse with the flaming mage. And Nameless’s world had turned crazy.


End file.
